Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas
by luvscharlie
Summary: Mary has what she's always wanted: a family of her own. John/Mary. Incorporates the S4 John/Mary episode


_Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_ by Luvscharlie

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Warnings: Sex, This incorporates the Season 4 Mary/John episode, so there would be spoilers for that

_A/N: Originally written as a pinch hit for the 2009 Christmas exchange at spn_het_love on Live Journal_

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When I stare at my sleeping son on the sofa, and listen to the boards creak above my head, I realize that my dreams are dreams no longer—they've become my reality… mostly. I mean, the important ones have come true. This is what I've always wanted—at least since I thought I couldn't have it. Demon hunters having families—a recipe for disaster. There really is something about that old saying the grass is always greener on the other side. But for me, that doesn't apply, at least not anymore. Because I have what I've always dreamed of. All of it. It lies before me in a cute little curled up bundle, thumb in mouth. And it walks above me muttering curses that make me smile. Family, that means everything. All that's important is within the confines of my little house.

John carries in a box of ornaments still cursing as he shakes the salt from his hair and shoulders. "Really, Mary? You salted the attic door? I pulled it down to reach for the ladder and salt dumped right on my head. Don't you think that was a bit much? I mean, the doors and windows I understand… but the attic? There's not even a window up there. I think you might be taking 'careful' to the extreme."

I smile, mostly because every time he moves another shower of salt falls from his body, but also because I love him for his naïve nature. John hasn't grown up seeing the things I've seen or living in a house where things that go bump in the night really are something to fear. Sure, he's seen his share of scary things in the few years we've been married, but none of it has really affected him. Nothing has happened to someone he loves… nothing like what happened to my parents… to him. I do my best never to think of that night and I've certainly never told him what happened to him that terrible evening. "It's not like it's just us here anymore. We have Dean now, and how do you think it would make me feel if something happened to him… or to you, just because I wasn't taking precautions?"

John looks at the dusting of salt on his shoulder. "Well, I don't think we need to worry about that."

I start to retort, to tell him a thing or two about demons and why one could never be too careful, but then he winks at me to show me that he's playing and all of my anger slips away. Those dimples of his have the power to remove any anger I might want to direct his way in a matter of seconds. Someone should check into that. I wonder if dimples have any power against demons—if the things those dimples do to me are any indication, I think they just might. _What killed that? Holy water or iron? Neither. It was just a flash of John Winchester's dimples._ I giggle at the thought.

"What are you laughing at?" John asks. "Haven't you ever seen a man who rains salt before?"

"Well…"

"Yeah, don't answer that. Something tells me there are few things you haven't seen," he says, passing over the box of ornaments. "You go through those and I'll carry Dean up to his room. It looks like tree trimming duty is going to fall to the grown ups."

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I am just putting the first ornament on the tree when hands grab me from behind. Instincts take over, the ornament crashes to the floor and I kick out connecting soundly with John's shin.

"OWWWWW, what the hell did you do that for?" he howls, releasing me quickly and falling onto the sofa to rub his wounded leg.

I am remorseful though part of me thinks he brought this on himself. I mean, how many times do I have to tell him not to sneak up on me like that? Perhaps a kick to the shin will save him more substantial injuries in the future. And while I am somewhat ashamed at having kicked him, I try not to show it. "Oh, stop being a baby and come help me with the tree."

John's arm shoots out to wrap around my waist and pull me onto his lap. I could resist, but really why would I want to? His hand curls around my neck pulling my face down to him. When our lips are but inches apart, he smiles. "You know, when you wound someone, you might at least offer him some token of your apology."

"What if I'm not sorry?"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," John says. "Is that any way to treat the man who loves you?"

"But according to that tattoo on your shoulder you love "Marcy" not me."

"Yeah, well that's what I get for going to a tattoo parlor so drunk that I didn't realize the guy with the needle couldn't spell. Live and learn."

I might have answered more and told him he deserved his injury for sneaking up behind me like that, but he doesn't give me the chance. John's lips close over mine and all thoughts leave my brain. _The power of his dimples are trumped only by the things he can do with his tongue._

"It would seem you have some way in mind that I might make amends," I tease.

"I do indeed." John's lips close over mine once more, his tongue licks at my lips, driving out all thoughts of trimming the tree or pretty much anything else except the way his kisses send electricity shooting through me and how grateful I am to be sitting because there's no way my knees would ever hold me up. God, how I love this man.

I wiggle in his lap and am rewarded with a feral growl from deep in his throat, one which makes my stomach flip over and my thighs tense in anticipation. I throw my leg over and straddle his lap, pressing him back against the sofa as my lips close over him and I work my tongue between his lips. John's having none of it, with my attention diverted at kissing him thoroughly, he takes advantage pulling me to him and rolling me to my back, pressing his weight down on me so that I'm trapped beneath him (or so he thinks—I mean sometimes we tough girls have to let them think they have control, right?)

"And what are you going to do now, my love?" John asks with a smirk. His dimple peeks out from his stubble and I want him. I was not joking about the power of John Winchester's dimples. I could knee him in the groin, but I have far better uses for that body part.

"You have control issues, you know that?" I nuzzle my nose into John's neck and feel his desire pressed firmly against my stomach.

"_I_ have control issues? You can't be-"

My finger touches his lips to silence him. "I find this side of you incredibly sexy."

"Then _of course_ I have control issues."

I cock my head to the side and grin back at him. "It's not nearly as sexy when you admit it," I tease.

John rolls his eyes. "All these rules!"

"Then maybe you should just use those lips of yours to kiss me before I go making up any more rules."

"I like the way you think, Mary Winchester," John says, and he kisses me until I am gasping for breath. My husband does nothing half way. He kisses his way to my neck, and his stubble rasping against my skin makes me shiver in the most pleasant of ways.

We wiggle and squirm, tossing clothes aside as we go, desperate to feel skin against skin. Then John is inside me and I can think of nothing but keeping him there forever. I match every thrust with equal fervor, and find my climax long before John. Did I mention his stamina? Okay, well maybe I _am_ a little proud of my husband—perhaps even too proud, but as much as I look, finding flaws in John Winchester is next to impossible. He's damn near perfect. I guess that's what they mean about love being blind.

He groans in my ear and I know he's close. I tighten my muscles around him sending him over the edge of ecstasy and I stroke his back as he lies panting over me. He rolls to his side and pulls me close, then he laughs.

"What's so funny?" I ask.

John points up at the tree and I join in his laughter. "My bra's not exactly the kind of tinsel I had planned on decorating the tree with."

"I don't know. I think it's sort of festive."

I punch him in the side playfully. "You would."


End file.
